


5 Times Jesus Touched Judas and 1 Time He Did Not

by LokianaWinchester



Series: Jesus Christ Superstar [3]
Category: Jesus Christ Superstar - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Attempt at writing fucking uuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Afterlife, Fucking you up, Gifter of Angst II., M/M, Perfect day for MASSIVE ANGST FIC, Spoiler: they die., The day my babies die, Tis I, and feelings, it's good Friday, mhhhhhhhh, with more ANGST, you don't want to have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 22:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14145741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokianaWinchester/pseuds/LokianaWinchester
Summary: The story of how Jesus became Judas' rock at stormy sea.The story of how Judas learned he could break rock without even trying.





	5 Times Jesus Touched Judas and 1 Time He Did Not

1  
Judas was in a bad place when Jesus found him. He would not have thought it possible that he could be helped. How could a person be helped if they did not want to receive help? It seemed as impossible as helping a person stand, that lay on the ground, unmoving, pretending to be dead.

But Jesus had helped him up. In both the physical and the emotional way, Jesus had made him want to get up when Judas was not sure he could; that was the answer, not to force help on somebody but to make them want to be helped. Judas had been wrong in assuming he could not be helped and Jesus continued to prove him wrong over and over. Judas did not even know what exactly gave him such will to live but it had not been there before Jesus stepped into his life.

Judas had thought it about as possible that he would ever like being proven wrong as that he would like getting help. He was stubborn, and he was well aware of it. But when Jesus did what he did best and made him live, no, when Jesus made him want to live, gave him life, gave him a reason to live, Judas' heart, inexplicably, warmed.

His life changed when Jesus touched him for the first time although Judas had not known it at the time. He wanted nothing to do with the strange man that came through town doing lord knows what and he did not like being touched in general. But when Jesus asked him to please get up, Judas reached out his hand, hesitantly. Jesus’ calloused fingertips ghosted across his palm, softly, gently, completely unlike what Judas would expect from a man of his build, before they clasped around his wrist. Judas clenched his own, considerably skinnier fingers around Jesus' hand and looked up into the other man's face. A friendly face; Judas wanted to believe that underneath the face there was a friendly soul, he needed to. He tightened his grip slightly, Jesus squeezed back firmly, as if to promise a place for Judas to belong to. This was not normally something Judas was looking for. He had been alone for a big part of his life, never belonging anywhere permanently and he did not think he needed that until he laid his eyes upon Jesus. 

Part of him wanted to suffocate this longing feeling that made him reach out. But when Jesus' hand lingered for a moment after he had pulled Judas to his feet, held him close to him, so that Judas could feel the warmth radiating from the other man’s body. Judas wanted to hold on; and he did. He held on to Jesus, he followed him and he trusted him where he thought he was not capable of trust. Jesus made the impossible possible and whenever Judas doubted what great things the people said of Jesus, he reminded himself that Jesus if nothing else, had a way of proving people wrong.

After a while, Judas began to realise that Jesus had not given him a place to belong to, after all. He had given him a person to belong to; a solid promise, not something that could be destroyed, but somebody who would not let himself be destroyed, who for some reason knew exactly what Judas needed: a tight grip on his wrist, somebody to guide him, yes, but most importantly somebody to steady him, to be his rock, when the rest of his life was a sea at storm.

2

Judas did not always get along too well with the other apostles. They were his friends, sure, but he stayed wary. The only one he really trusted was Jesus, who returned this trust to the fullest, which explained the situation, Judas found himself in at that moment. Jesus was leaning against him comfortably, clutching Judas’ tunic, clinging to him. Judas was not sure why; after all there was no particular reason for Jesus to be clingy, he had enough other people to touch and receive affection from any time. But Judas was going to take what he could get. He briefly closed his eyes; the air was filled with chatter and laughter from men who had had just a bit too much wine. Judas wished he could be like them, wished he could let go, but he did not trust himself to. He had come a long way from being the untrusting, closed off person, Jesus had found that day but he still felt like he led a separate life from everybody else. But despite that Judas found that he felt at peace here; absentmindedly he found a lock of Jesus' hair and slung it around his index finger, separating it, playing with it gently. Jesus sighed contently and burrowed his head against Judas' neck. 

His breath hitched, but he forced himself to calm down his fight or flight response. This was Jesus, he never did anybody harm; he was careful, as not to overstep anybody's boundaries and even though he came very close to that with Judas sometimes, Jesus always knew when to stop, what to say, how to help. A year before, if somebody had told Judas he would be where he was now, the alleged Messiah's head pressing against his neck, arms slung around each other, Judas would never have believed it. But here he was and he felt better than he had in a long time.

Judas had not noticed how tight his grip on Jesus' hair had been until he tried to relax. This happened too often, he got lost in thought and once he was too deep in his mind space, his body tensed up. His fingers, clenched into a fist, had tangled with a strand of the soft hair, he had playfully wrapped around his index finger. His attempt at untangling his hand could have been more gentle, he admitted to himself, when he tugged at roughly at the lock.

Jesus let out a low sound; the hot puff of breath met Judas' neck. He closed his eyes and tried to calm down. Jesus was evoking emotions and responses in him, that he did not want to deal with. He knew that he felt more for Jesus than he had for anybody else in a long time but he was not ready to acknowledge or even address these feelings, these desires. Judas felt his thoughts slipping out of his control, his heart beat wildly and his breathing sped up. Suddenly he felt something against his fingertips. Jesus had let go off Judas' tunic and instead touched their fingertips together as if he was asking for something more. Judas glanced down at Jesus, who looked back up at him, the question in his eyes. He knew this was a boundary; he had to ask for permission and Judas was indefinitely grateful that he did. Hesitantly he nodded once; a movement so small he was sure nobody could detect, had not they waited for it.

Judas was aware that he was too dependent on Jesus, that he was too needy, too clingy. But it was not without good reason, as he was reminded, when Jesus carefully linked their fingers together, his hand still bigger and undoubtedly stronger than Judas' own. After all, who would not hold onto the rock that stands steadily in the storm that only slowly starts to slowly fade away.

3

Judas liked to think that he had become used to touching Jesus. He was still thrilled every time it occurred, but the thrill no longer held the amount of power over him, that it initially had. Judas had also become used to the very real fact that he felt more than just friendship for Jesus. Maybe that was an overstatement, but he felt, at least less mortified with every passing day. When he had first realised that his platonic love had turned into a different kind of love, he had withdrawn; from Jesus, the other apostles, from his entire world. But instead of returning Judas’ apparent disinterest or excluding him or even dismissing him completely, Jesus had come after him. He had cared enough to ask Judas what was wrong, enough to try and better whatever upset him and Judas realised that that was the exact reason why he felt so intensely for Jesus. They had spent a quiet day far from the camp where the other apostles were going about their business and they had talked about everything and nothing until Judas noticed that this was what they always did; nothing was different in the way they acted around each other. He found that his love for Jesus neither changed him nor the way he looked at Jesus. So they settled into a comfortable routine like they had had before, but Judas knew something had shifted and his trust in Jesus had impossibly multiplied when he had thought it to have reached its maximum limit.

More than half the night had already passed, they were talking about their fates, about what would become of them, now that Jesus attracted more attention than ever. Judas did not want to admit it to anybody, last of all Jesus, but he felt uneasy. Even though Jesus never consciously showed it, Judas knew that there were dark thoughts hidden in his mind, even darker plans. His expression must have shown his fears of that hidden side of Jesus, because the creases in Jesus' forehead vanished, his previously icy eyes, staring bitterly somewhere behind Judas softened, his tightly pressed together lips curled into a slight smile. He was perfect picture of warmth, reassurance, calm. For the first time in a while now, Judas felt himself thrown back in time, to when he first saw that expression. It was moments like this that reminded Judas that Jesus was still his rock to cling to. The sea would never be calm, and it had taken Judas a considerable time to admit to needing Jesus, to loving Jesus. He was prepared to love even the dark corners of Jesus’ mind, that he was scared of and that he wanted to stay away from and preferably take Jesus with him, far from troubling thoughts and dark secrets. Judas was yanked back into the present by a small movement. Jesus held out his hand expectantly; a peace offering? An apology? Judas was not sure but he took the invitation and interlaced their fingers gently. Instantly he felt comforted, calmed. Jesus gently squeezed his hand and again it reminded Judas of that first time they had met. He took a deep breath and let his eyelids flutter shut. After a moment Jesus let go off his hand and shuffled closer to Judas. A soft touch against Judas’ cheek made his eyes snap open and found Jesus was sitting closer than he had expected.

Hesitantly, Jesus cupped Judas' jaw, it was visible on his face that he had expected Judas to pull back; Judas himself had not expected himself to remain so still, but now he found himself leaning into the solid warm presence. He found it to be even more soothing and comforting than holding Jesus’ hand. But mixed into these serene feelings was something else, something that stemmed right from one of the dark corners of Judas’ own mind: Desire. Without thinking he moved towards Jesus, crossing the small distance that still separated them, clenched his hand into his tunic and pulled him close. He felt Jesus' breath on his skin, hot and in fast puffs, and for the third time in about as many minutes he felt thrown back in time, to that night by the fire, where Jesus' breath against his neck had set him upon the path that had led him here. Judas swallowed hard, his breaths went shallow and came quicker and quicker with every passing moment. He had a decision to make.

Judas was afraid of only one thing in this world: losing Jesus, losing the grip to his rock, losing the steady hold on his wrist that had guided him into the best part of his life. He would barely need to move for their lips to slot together, the thought sped up Judas' heart, sending it thumping wildly as if it wanted to escape his chest. But he could not do it. It was too risky, but he did move. 

Their cheeks pressed against one another, Judas felt the rough texture of Jesus’ beard against his own stubbled cheek. He buried his nose in the nape of Jesus' neck, soft hair tickled his forehead. 

Jesus clutched at his back with one hand, his other hand that had previously gently been cupping Judas’ jaw moved to the back of his neck and gripped the hem of his shirt tightly. For the second time that night he let Judas see a hidden side of himself. Not the dark side that made Judas fear the future they were so often talking about, but the soft side, that needed protection, that needed a rock in his very own stormy sea.

4

It was going too far but Jesus did not seem to notice and Judas did not know how to make him. He knew he could not do anything to prevent a bad ending for everybody involved but he also knew Jesus was taking it too far and he was not aware of it. Judas could not rest or sleep. His mind was constantly racing because he had to do something to keep Jesus from whatever he was doing. He was not sure if it would be worse knowing if Jesus was planning this or just letting it happen. Judas did not want Jesus to be planning it. He would rather have Jesus be too weak to control what was happening to his name, his life, than have him actively destroy himself. He was sure it was those dark parts of Jesus’ mind even though he had become even better at masking them. It broke Judas that he knew him well enough to recognise his every side, and yet to stand by and helplessly watch him be consumed by it.

Judas became jealous more easily the farther Jesus’ influence reached. He still burned for Jesus and maybe that was the reason for his jealousy; he saw other people burning for Jesus as well. He tried to reason with himself: nobody could love Jesus as much as him, nobody would do so much – give up so much for Jesus as him, but sometimes he could not even convince himself. Jesus spoke to all sorts of people from all walks of life and then Mary stepped into their lives. She was intelligent, kind and beautiful, nobody seemed to dislike her. The apostles quickly took to her being around, her high pitched laughter could be heard throughout the camp regularly, she helped them out like any of them did. But Judas could not take a liking to her, he found her to be disturbing, her smile too bright, her laughter too shrill. In the back of his mind he knew he was jealous because he saw her burning for Jesus and he saw her as a reflection of himself. And so even though he did not like her, there was one thing he despised about himself that overshadowed all other feelings about Mary: He could not hate her. He wished nothing more than to be able to antagonise the woman, to find reasons for her to leave and with her gone to see a chance returning, that he might have had with Jesus. However this was the main problem; Judas could not hate Mary because she made Jesus happy. Jesus had changed a lot, he had started eating less, sleeping less, smiling less. The other apostles were too busy basking in what little fame they had to notice that their supposed Messiah, upon whom all their fame was built, was not well. But Judas noticed and it hurt, because for some reason Jesus had started to cut him out. Judas might have started to be able to decipher whatever state of mind Jesus was in, yet he rarely even got close enough to do so anymore and this was where Mary came in. When Jesus was with her he could be convinced to have a decent meal, when she slept by his side he looked relaxed in the morning. But most importantly, the fact that made Judas’ heart clench painfully was that Jesus smiled. Not the forced, almost emotionless smile, that graced his lips too often these days, but a toothy grin when Mary uttered a witty comment. Mary was everything Jesus deserved and Judas hated most of all that sometimes he would rather seeing Jesus being unhappy, than having to hear Mary laugh one more time.

Judas knew he was undeserving of Jesus’ attention or love but he could not help but crave it. This led to him being unnerved about every bit of affection he showed towards Mary. She was close to perfect, but even she could not quite go all the way to being flawless. Judas caught himself again and again, watching her make one minor mistake after another, never uttering a word about them until one day he snapped. Jesus had this reputation of being good to people, caring for them, but Judas was very sure that that did not have to include basically being groped in the middle of the day for everybody to see. Sure, Mary loved Jesus and sure, she liked to care for him, cooling his face and whatnot but it drove Judas wild and he acted out where he knew he should not have. Calling Mary nothing more than a concubine to Jesus had admittedly been a low blow, not only to Mary whom Judas knew to be so much more, but to Jesus as well, but Judas had been too far gone to realise it until later. He went straight past Mary, who was furious, towards Jesus, continuing his taunting and jibing, directed at Mary but simultaneously at Jesus. Had he not been so wound up, so glad to release some of the tension and negativity that had built up inside him Judas would have stopped on the spot and crawled under a rock in shame, but the adrenaline had him going on and on until he was out of breath. It was bad, seeing the other apostles look at him with aversion in their eyes. It was bad, hearing Mary’s scandalised gasps, she had not deserved him unloading al his baggage onto her. It was bad, looking at Jesus to see him seemingly shocked, standing forlorn in a circle of his followers, shoulders hunched forward and his eyes wide. But the worst thing was something nobody else could perceive. Judas felt good. Despite all rational thought and the knowledge about the wrongs he had just committed, he could not bring himself to feel bad, guilty, he felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, like he could fly. But even this brief bout of triumph over what his life had become came to an end far quicker than he could have imagined. Jesus’ look of bafflement and silent disbelief had shifted into something dangerous it was not clearly visible, certainly not to the untrained eye, but Judas’ eye was far from untrained and he recognised the far too familiar darkness in Jesus’ expression, the darkness that he dreaded. Jesus came towards him in big steps, he only stopped when only mere inches separated them. Judas swallowed, it had been some time since they had been this close. Jesus was talking to him but his voice seemed far away, accusing him, and rightly so. Then he was quiet, the vague sound of protesting apostles to the last thing Jesus had uttered, his eyes trailed towards Judas’ from the spot beyond his ear they had previously been trained on. His expression shifted again by the slightest degree, Jesus was no longer furious, he was disappointed.

The touch took Judas by surprise. He knew Jesus possessed considerable strength and he had been on the receiving end of it several times before but the sheer force with which Jesus gripped his arm, bordering on violence, brought it clear before Judas’ eyes again. He craved more of that touch and he craved more of that strength but he also knew he was not worthy of either. When Jesus spoke again, Judas shuddered with the intensity of what he realised Jesus had just said. It had been directed at him, he knew, a passive aggressive stab into his heart and Jesus knew. 

‘You don’t care’, it echoed in Judas’ mind. Jesus had told him in his very own way that Judas had just proven to him that he did not matter, that Judas did not care. 

‘ – don’t care if I come or go’, the echo reminded Judas. Catching a glimpse at Jesus’ expression just a second before he could hide it between one of his many facades, Judas saw his own emotions mirrored, he saw Jesus’ heartbreak and felt it echoing deep within his soul. 

‘Not one –‘ Jesus’ voice breaking, starting the sentence again. ‘Not one of you!’

Judas felt his own heart break and knew then and there that this had been the final straw. His acting out of turn, not only in the position the other apostles saw him in, Jesus’ right hand man, but also as a well-mannered man. His unnecessarily attacking the already fragile Jesus and with him their love of which he was now sure, they had once shared, Judas had shattered the last persistent kernel of hope that they had carried within themselves.

Judas was going to have a bruise marking his upper arm, he could still feel the phantom touch of Jesus’ fingers closing nearly all the way around his arm. He would welcome the bruise as a reminder of what he had lost, it would be fitting: a painful reminder for a painful loss, although Judas was no sure he would feel much pain, his whole body felt numb, his mind did as well. However little he might feel, Judas decided, this reminder was a last shadow of the rock, that had eventually slipped from his grip, as the stormy sea had overrun him after too much good weather.

5

The following days did little to better Judas’ situation. He fought to stay in control of his life but he felt his grip slipping. His eating and sleeping habits got out of control, he felt weak but the rage inside him, that seemed to be directed at just about everything in his life, kept him going. He was still angry at Mary but mostly managed to keep it together, he was angry at the other apostles for blindly and enthusiastically following Jesus wherever he went. He was most angry at himself because he had let it come to this.

Judas knew at least part of the situation was his fault; he had turned his back on Jesus when he had needed his support for once, and had in turn lost him. Grimly he thought back to when it had all been easier, when caring for Jesus had been easier. He needed to do something to get that back, he needed to get the attention off of Jesus, keep him away from the people and keep the people away from him. Since their arrival in Jerusalem things had gotten worse and worse, more out of hand than Judas would have expected to be possible, and Jesus did nothing to stop it. Judas needed to get Jesus off the streets and out of the centre of everybody’s attention for things to ever return to normal, for there to be another chance for Judas to reconcile with Jesus and tell him how he felt.

He finally made his decision when Mary kissed Jesus; this was not the only reason. That Jesus had passed out due to having been ambushed by a mob of sick people, lurking in the shadows, did not make the situation any better. Judas swallowed his feelings, he swallowed his jealousy, his rage, his desire to be in Mary’s place kissing Jesus, he swallowed his anxiety from what he was about to do and he made his way to the Pharisees.

He went through the motions of the deal like in a haze: It was for everybody’s good if Jesus was out of the people’s way for some time, they were to detain him, to let the situation cool down. It first occurred to him that he had messed up, when they brought in the money; this had not been what he had imagined. Judas did not want to sell Jesus, he did not want to give him up for money but the Pharisees were making a compelling argument, they were locking Jesus up and Judas could use the money for good. He tried to convince himself that there would be a positive outcome to all this, that the clenching of his heart and the convulsing of his stomach had nothing to do with the bitter tears running down his face as he spat out exactly what the Pharisees wanted to hear. 

He was not betraying Jesus, he could not possibly, he would never. Judas broke down.

When he forced himself to get up and return to the camp he felt empty, he felt used. He regretted nothing more than the deal he had just made. Supper was a blur, it went awfully, partly he blamed it on Jesus for being just too much; too distanced, too knowing, too beautiful. But mainly he blamed it on himself, what his guilt had made him say. It hurt him to say he despised Jesus, it hurt him to lie to him and to insult him, but it was even worse that he could not bring himself to truly believe it. He also could apparently not bring Jesus to believe him, he had been outraged, called Judas a liar when usually Jesus did not resort to insults. 

As Judas stormed out, before his emotions could overwhelm him and make him stay with Jesus and pull him tight to his chest and never let him go, as Judas stormed out, because he knew for some absurd reason Jesus wanted him to, he knew the tide of the stormy sea washed away even the last remains of his rock that had stuck to him. He left. Cried. Went looking for Jesus where he knew he would find him, behind him, soldiers.

He saw an image of himself, mirrored in Jesus, forcing himself to stand as not to seem too undignified. Judas stepped out of the shadows, eyes concentrated on Jesus’ face. He had been crying as well, his eyes were red, his face puffy, he licked his lips and Judas’ heart skipped a beat. When Jesus saw him, Judas cursed his ability of reading Jesus so easily, when Jesus saw him his face lit up. 

His tightly knit-together eyebrows smoothed, his tense stance relaxed and his eyes lost their dark shadow and regained life. All this happened in a split-second before a much worse expression took over Jesus’ face: heartbreak. Judas had seen it before after he had yelled at Mary, at Jesus. It had been less than a week ago and yet it felt like another lifetime. The last time Judas had seen this expression was when Jesus had left, after clutching his arm between his fingers, he had let go and he had looked at Judas with those sad eyes. Judas needed to wipe it away, banish the pain, if even for a short time.

He stepped closer to Jesus, questioning his every move, moving forward only as far as Jesus allowed, not wanting to cross his boundaries, knowing what that could do. Jesus let him come closer and closer, not moving back, simply staring at Judas with an unnerving stare, like he was accusing him of this entire situation. But he also reached out. He reached out a hand towards Judas’ cheeks, to cup his face in his hands and force him to look into his eyes. Judas moved closer, still Jesus made no move to stop him only tightening his firm hold around Judas’ face, pulling him in even as Judas pushed. Just before their lips could meet, Jesus stilled.

“Judas,” his voice broke. Jesus was choking on tears, Judas could hear it but he continued to speak all the same. “must you betray me with a kiss?”

Judas knew Jesus expected no answer of him, this was as much his acceptance as it was his permission. As Judas leaned in, finally, finally sealing his own lips over Jesus’, he realised that that sentence had been even more. It had been a confession, the same one that Judas was making by kissing him. Jesus loved him, Judas realised as his hands found leverage to pull Jesus closer, one fist curled into Jesus’ shirt, the other slipping into his hair, twisting it around his finger as he had done that night at the fire. Jesus loved him, Judas realised when Jesus let out a desperate sound and deepened the kiss. Jesus loved him, Judas realised as Jesus held onto him, one hand in the front of Judas’ tunic, the other still firmly against his jaw, even as they broke apart.

Being touched by Jesus again sent thrills through Judas as he did his best to convey one thing: ‘I love you too.’

‘Jesus loved him!’ it echoed in his mind, as it hit him: Jesus still loved him. After all Judas had done, after all Jesus had endured because of him, and all he knew he would still have to endure. Jesus had forgiven him, and continued to love him. How this was possible, Judas did not know. The soldiers came up to them, separating them, pulling and ripping cloth, bruising skin. Judas saw nothing but the tears in Jesus’ eyes, silent tears only meant for him, and Judas got it. As the soldiers threw him, disregarded, onto the floor, and he was left staring up at the scene of tough men in military gear pushing and pulling at Jesus, who did not resist, a man, who valued peace above all else, who kept his eyes on Judas, burning with desire, passion, things left unsaid, he knew that the rock he had lost at sea, was not only lost for him, but it was crumbling and sinking in the unforgiving storm.

+1

Judas knew there was no going back and simultaneously no moving on for him, he had betrayed Jesus. He was never going to recover from this because in the end he himself had kicked the steady rock until it crumbled, leaving him stranded at sea, waves washing over him, making it hard to breathe, hard to see, hard to live.

Judas had followed the soldiers in terror watching Jesus, his Jesus whom he only wanted to hold and comfort, be tortured, beaten, kicked. He had no tears left to shed so he just watched with the unmistakable grimace of total agony plastered on his face. He regretted ever letting Jesus near him. He had thought from the beginning that Jesus was somebody special, he had known for sure once he had realised he was in love with him; to make somebody love that had once felt lost to the world truly took somebody special. Judas should have known that he would ruin this, as he ruined everything in his life, he should have prevented it. He should have never taken Jesus’ hand, never followed him, never gotten addicted to him. But he had and now he had not only ruined his own life and fate but that of so many others as well. Jesus, after all, was almost universally loved.

This posed another reason for Judas’ existential desperation. None of the people he had come to consider his friends would want anything more to do with him. He was panicking, pacing the  
streets of Jerusalem, until he reached the fields surrounding the city. His feet hurt, his mind was numb and his heart was aching, racing as if he had been running, when he had moved in more of a stroll. He needed to stop.

The tree stood deserted well outside the town limit. Judas had rarely thought of ending his life in the last years, not since Jesus had infiltrated his life, but now the idea crept back into his life and set his mind aflame, sent it racing, where it had previously been numbed and slow. He had nothing to lose, the only thing he had treasured was lost, discarded by his own hand and now there was, once again no reason to continue on living. As Judas loosened his belt and tied it to the tough branch above him, regret washed over him; not about what he was about to do but about wasting what Jesus had given him. He was sure Jesus would not want this fate for him, and yet it was the only way to go. He regretted not saying goodbye to Jesus, thanking him for the second chance at life, that had been given to him. As he checked the knot a last time, closing his eyes, he envisioned Jesus’ face. Gentle, caring, as he had been with Judas for most of their acquaintance, smiling at him lovingly with the smile that would soon no longer be. With only one thing on his mind, one wish, to see Jesus again, Judas let himself fall from the bough he had been perched on. 

Everything went black. 

No.

Not black.

There was just Nothing.

And then there was Jesus.

At first, confusion. Then alarm. He ran towards Jesus.

Anger. He was about to get crucified. Judas knew, suddenly how this would end.

Inspiring, Jesus was, like always. Word would spread.

And spread.

And spread.

He would not be forgotten. Millennia would pass.

Jesus would not be forgotten.

Judas was glad.

Then was not.

Seeing Jesus on the ground was bad. 

Seeing Jesus on the ground, unable to carry the cross, mounted on his back was worse.

Seeing Jesus on the ground, unable to carry the cross mounted on his back because he was bleeding from multiple lacerations and head wounds was the worst thing Judas had ever seen.

He was so angry.

Then Jesus saw him and Judas melted all over, like he was used to doing.

Underneath the dirt, grime, blood, Jesus was still himself, beautiful.

Judas started talking, saying what came to his mind. Harsh words, but his eyes trained on Jesus, softly, lovingly.

People around them were staring at Jesus. ‘What is he looking at?’

Judas stepped closer, shivering at the sight of the state Jesus was in.

Broken.

Tears collected in the corners of Judas’ eyes. He let them fall.

Jesus noticed.

Jesus always noticed.

He reached out. Judas wanted him to. Judas needed him to.

But Jesus did not touch him.

For the first time Jesus did not touch him.

For the first time Jesus could not touch him. There was something separating them. And Jesus realised it. His eyes dulled, tears streamed down his blood-crusted cheeks.

Jesus knew.

Jesus knew Judas was dead.

Judas broke down.

He got up again, as always.

Followed Jesus, as always.

Judas watched him die. This was what he had not wanted. This was why he had taken his own life.

Yet he endured it.

The suffering was long, Jesus still held so much strength. Too much strength.

When it was over, Judas slipped back into the Nothing.

Only it was not Nothing. There was another presence. 

Loving. 

Caring. 

Steady. 

Like a clear sign in fog, a loud voice in a crowd.

Another mind among existenceless Nothingness.

Two souls united.

**Author's Note:**

> Hang out with me on [tumblr](https://lokianawinchester.tumblr.com/) or look at my Jesus posts on [my side blog](https://this-broken-man.tumblr.com/) or send me prompts!


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